


Measure my footsteps as I blow through this town

by keysmash



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Academia, Community: 14valentines, Gen, Pre-Canon, Pre-Het
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-09
Updated: 2010-02-09
Packaged: 2017-10-07 03:25:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keysmash/pseuds/keysmash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>By the time Ellen was halfway through her MA, she'd gone from teaching her friends how to drink to tending bar at a restaurant near school.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Measure my footsteps as I blow through this town

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Sia. Written for 14valentines.

"Now, what you eventually want to be able to do is sip it," Ellen said, and nodded to Billy's cup. They were in the kitchen of the off-campus apartment he shared with three other boys, sitting at his table. She'd poured them each a few fingers of whiskey into a jam jar, and Billy raised his eyebrows at her before picking his up. She bit back a smile and nodded, and then watched as he drank. He'd barely put his lips on the glass before he started coughing and sputtering. He turned red and closed his eyes for a moment, but to his credit, he at least swallowed what he'd taken.

"Not easy, is it," she allowed. He glared a little as she picked up her glass and drank as smoothly as she could. She couldn't help shuddering a little after she swallowed, but other than that, she didn't embarrass her self.

"You didn't say it was gonna be like that," he said.

She shrugged. She'd grown up in her parents's bar where he'd grown up in his parents's shoe shop, and they were each the first in their family to go to school but she knew all sorts of things he didn't. "Would you believe me if I had?"

He looked away and then back to her, grinning a little. The alcohol had already started turning his cheeks pink. "Probably not."

"You can shoot it, instead," she said, and topped off her glass. His own was still full enough to work with. "You just knock it back as fast as you can. Try to swallow before you taste it."

He looked more suspicious than he had earlier, but she clinked her jar against his and smiled at him after she took her shot, so eventually he drank his, too. He still coughed a little, but nodded when he stopped.

"Better?"

"Yeah," he said, "better."

She poured them each one more and this time they took them together. His cheeks were honestly red when he turned around from rinsing the glass.

"What're you doing the rest of the day?" he asked.

She shrugged and kept on wrapping the bottle in a shawl before tucking it into her purse. "Think I'm going to go read the rest of Spenser."

"On Friday?"

"I want to get it out of the way." She laughed. "Plus, I'd rather read now than sober."

"I guess that's one way to do it." He walked her to his door. "You want me to help you home?"

Ellen turned and raised an eyebrow at him. "It's three in the afternoon, and I'm just heading back across campus."

He moved his mouth a few times before shutting it with a snap and looking away. "Yeah, never mind. Don't know what I was thinking."

"It's the whiskey," she said, and grinned at him, then nodded towards a hallway off the living room, on the opposite side of the apartment from the kitchen. She hadn't been down there, but she assumed the bedrooms were off that way. "Go sleep it off, tiger."

They finished up Wilhelm's Intro to British Lit course that semester without incident, and their friendship went the way of so many other section friendships: they promised they'd get together again, wrote a letter or two over summer break, and then were both too busy when school started up again to turn their loose plans into something real. She figured maybe she'd run into him, but maybe not. Probably not.

By the time Ellen was halfway through her MA, she'd gone from teaching her friends how to drink to tending bar at a restaurant near school. It certainly paid better, and scholarship or no she could use the money. The place was favored by the adjuncts and the kids slogging through their dissertations, and watching them, here more nights than not while grading papers or shuffling index cards, made her think academia might not be cut out for her after all. That didn't much look like a life she wanted; it looked like one more thing she wanted to get out of.

She knew the regulars by their drink orders, and when a too-lanky man in an ill-fitting coat sat down and asked for a whiskey, neat, she realized he was new, even though part of her recognized him at the same time. He downed the first glass she brought and then gestured for another. He took off his hat by the time she filled him up again, and Ellen laughed when she looked him in the face.

"Billy Harvelle," she said, and put down his drink. "I see you finally learned how to take these like a man."

He took a slow sip and smiled back at her. "It's just Bill these days."

She tucked the bottle back into the well and leaned on the shelves behind her, careful as always not to rattle top-shelf stuff displayed there. "So what're you doing with yourself now?"

"Still at school, actually. I'm getting my MA, American history."

"Don't kid," she said. "I am, too, American lit."

"Before or after 1800?"

"After. You?"

"Same."

She grinned at him. "Well, congratulations, you've just won the pleasure of reading through the historical contexts part of my thesis."

"Oh, no. I've got enough reading to do on my own, thanks." He shook his head, but grinned a little.

He stayed through closing time, and she let him stay at the bar while she cleaned up. The rest of the wait staff worked in the rest of the place, and everyone was quiet and tired at the end of the night. She checked her watch, once she turned her cash drawer in to Nate, in his office, and found it was still early enough. She poured a glass of water for Bill and another for her, and sat down next to him.

"I was kidding, about not reading your stuff," he said when she joined him.

"I was kidding about wanting you to," she answered.

He laughed. "Are you staying here to do your doctorate?"

Ellen shook her head. She was getting sick of it: sick of falling out of love with her favorite texts after dissecting them beyond all recognition, sick of having to sign letters as E. Hall instead of with her full name if she wanted to get anything done. It wasn't like she had anything to defer, and she still had a few months to make up her mind, but she was thinking about stopping after her master's.

"I don't want to have my entire CV from the same place," though, was what she said. She finished her water and checked her watch again. "Look, it's been great catching up, but I need to go."

He nodded and handed over his empty glass when she reached for it. "Can I see you again?"

She shrugged and looked over her shoulder, her hands still in the sink behind the bar. "I work Wednesday through Sunday, this same shift, so long as you don't get yourself kicked out."

"That's not what I meant."

She shrugged again and turned away from him as she shut off the water and dried their glasses. "Night, Bill."

"Goodnight," he said after a moment. The door swung heavily shut after him and she crossed the room to lock it.

He'd left his number on the back of the receipt she gave him, next to what she assumed was her tip — not horribly much, but it would have been enough to get him another drink, and he hadn't done that. She put the money away and hesitated over the slip of paper. Eventually, she stuck it in the copy of _The Scarlet Letter_ she kept under the bar during her shifts, and slid the book into her purse. She tied her hair back, let Nate know she was heading out, and stepped into the night air, heading home.


End file.
